


Counting On You

by ThatOddNerd



Series: Counting On You [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Humor, Romance, one shot series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:32:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2018163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOddNerd/pseuds/ThatOddNerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots , mostly Sherlolly, might add some John/Mary. Centered around the lives of Sherlock and Molly and how they have impacted each other's lives since they met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drugs

**Author's Note:**

> First Chapter: Drugs. 
> 
> Summary: She was the one who found him the fourth time, long before he even met John Watson.

She’s the one who finds him the fourth time around. She’s met by a tall, serious looking man with an umbrella he uses as a cane and a young woman who calls herself Anthea, just outside her flat’s building one night when she comes home. He asks her what her relationship with one Sherlock Holmes is, and how close they are, and at first, Molly is confused. By why he wants to know, what he is doing here, and how he knew her schedule.

“And why the hell, pray tell sir, should I tell you? How is it any of your business?” Molly had no idea where the bravery to sound so sarcastic to this admittedly intimidating man came from but there it was. There was just something about him that brought it out in her. Her harsh words were probably what shocked the man, for he did look a bit startled, into answering her.

“He’s my brother. My name is Mycroft Holmes. He hasn't replied to any of my text messages for a week.”

“Ever think maybe he’s just avoiding you?” Molly asked, sitting down on the steps to her building, getting ready for a long talk. “Siblings can be like that, can’t they?”

“Yes. Especially him. However this is more unusual than his normal snobbery of me. I tried goading him on with cases and jokes, digs on his personality and lack of friends. I usually get something out of him, but this time, he has said nothing.”

“And?” Molly asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“And I am concerned for my little brother. Although I would never tell him this, losing him would break me. I’ve dealt with a lot in life already Dr. Hooper, but the one thing I cannot bear is the thought of losing my brother.” Molly bit her lip and sighed. She could hardly argue with that, especially with the sincerity she could sense in his voice.

“Yeah, alright. Sure. I’ll look for him. But tell me, Mr. Holmes, what makes you think I can find him if you cannot? I’m just the mousey pathologist he met a few months ago. You’re his brother. How is it you cannot find him and yet you come to me? What about Greg Lestrade down at New Scotland Yard? I know he knows Sherlock as well. He probably…” she was cut off by the waving of his umbrella-less hand. She shut her mouth, but she glared at him harshly enough that if looks could kill, he’d be six feet under already. She does note with some satisfaction that he takes a little step back, and can’t help but feel smug.

“He talks about you a lot. Mind, he talks about you in the way that…well, the way that Sherlock talks about most people, I’m sure you get my drift, but enough for me to take note. He seems to trust you with a lot of information, and for Sherlock, that’s as close as a ‘best friend’ as you can get really. Something tells me you could guess where he might be, considering you see him more than I do. Well, more than I do in person.”

“Alright. I’ll look for him. Tomorrow, before and after work.”

“Right now.”

“No.” Molly snapped, getting up from her seat and walking up the stairs. “Tomorrow, Mr. Holmes. You do not scare me, so don’t even try. I’m tired. I just worked a double shift. I have been on my feet most of the day. I am going to bed. Goodnight.” And with that, she slammed the door, leaving Mycroft shocked, and Anthea smirking while texting. Anthea decided that moment that she was fond of Molly Hooper, very fond indeed.

“Set…”

“A watch on her, yeah. Already done it.” Anthea piped up before getting back in the car, her eyes never leaving her phone.

On the third floor of the building, Molly looked through her purse to find her ever disappearing keys, and started to lean on her door when she felt it move. She bolted up straight and stared at the door. Someone had broken in. Shit. She grabbed her phone out of her purse and dialed Lestrade’s number, telling him quickly what was up, and hanging up after he promised to come himself. She carefully opened the door, trying to be as quiet as possible, and looked around. Nothing seemed to be broken or taken. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. So what…? Then she heard it. A groan coming from her bedroom. Shaking, Molly picked up a cricket bat she kept in her coat closet and crept down the hallway to the room. She slowly opened the door and raised the bat, and then froze when she saw who was on her bed.

“Sherlock?! What are you doing here?” Molly shrieked, running to the bed and shoving him from his stomach to his back. He looked awful. His clothes were shabby, worn, and dirty, he was pale, hadn’t had a shower in over a week (she could tell by the grime and the smell), and on one exposed arm she saw needle marks everywhere. Little red splotches, all around the inside of his elbow. “Shit, Sherlock, what the fuck did you do?” Molly demanded as she grabbed her phone once again, this time to call an ambulance.

“Ssssjust a tiny relapse.” Sherlock slurred slightly. Drugs. The fucker had taken drugs. And a lot of them from how he looked. It was a marvel he didn’t overdose already.

“Tiny relapse? Sherlock you look like death, you broke into my flat, and you’re now lying like a damn corpse on my bed. This is not just a tiny relapse. What the fuck have you been taking?”

“Hrnen.” Sherlock gurgled, his head lolling to the right.

“What?” Molly asked, pulling his head back up.

“Heroin.” He replied more clearly, the hint of his old sarcasm and distaste for every living person coming back.

“You’re an idiot.” Molly said firmly, resisting the urge to literally turn her back on him. “An idiot who came to the flat of the random pathologist he met a few months ago rather than go to his damn brother, who, might I add, surprised me not ten minutes ago, on the steps to my building. What the hell are you thinking?”

“To be fair, drugs can addle to brain.”

“Wow.” Molly huffed, her anger increasing. “No shit Sherlock really? I never knew. Jesus …” Molly could hear a car door slam outside and someone rush up the stairs. “Thank God, Lestrade is here.”

“Graham?”

“Greg, Sherlock. His name is Greg. You’ve known him for three years. How do you not remember his first name?” Molly propped Sherlock up on the pillows of the bed and sighed once again. What an evening. “Really now, how can you…Sherlock? Sherlock?!” Molly started as a full-fledged seizure started in the man before her, and she screamed. She heard Lestrade burst through the doors and come into the room, panicked.

“What the hell…” he began, but Molly shook her head.

“Sherlock! Sherlock come on! Sherlock!” Suddenly his body went limp, and she rushed to his side, listening for a heartbeat and barely hearing one at all. It couldn’t end like this. They just met. It couldn’t…

After that it was all a blur. She barely heard the medics come in and take him away. Barely felt anything as Greg led her to his car and they followed the ambulance to St. Bart’s. Barely noticed anything as they sat in the waiting room waiting to hear the news. She didn’t even notice when Mycroft and Anthea entered the room an hour later, or when Mr. and Mrs. Holmes came three hours later. He’d been in surgery for hours and still no word. Something had happened inside. There had been a knife wound that had gone unnoticed, and his weakened immune system was making it worse, not to mention the long list of bad germs and the TB he’d somehow managed to contract.

He slipped into a coma, but the doctors assured them he’d stabilized. Molly had to stop herself from going up every half hour during work to check on him in the following weeks. It wasn’t until three weeks later that Sherlock Holmes awoke from his coma, and it was the news that sent the hospital ablaze with talk. Molly had just finished an autopsy on a young man that had been found dead, ironically, in a crack den not too far from where Mycroft figured Sherlock might have gone, when Mike Stamford came into the autopsy room and told her the news.

“You’re friends with Sherlock Holmes right?” he began as he walked in, grabbing a lab coat from the rack by the door.

“Yeah. Well…I mean as much of a friend as any of us can be with him.” Molly replied, getting ready to roll the poor young man back to the cooler. “Why?”

“He’s woken up.” Molly stopped and tried very hard to not let her emotions show on her face.

“Oh? That’s good. I’m sure his family will be very happy. I know they've been coming every day too…and his parents stayed with me for awhile even… but…”

“He’s asking for you.” Mike said casually, walking over to where she had the gurney.

“He’s what?” Molly squeaked.

“He’s asking for you. Won’t talk to anyone else. You've made an impression.” Mike replied, smiling. “Go on up. I’ll take over here, no problem.” Molly stood there, still in shock. “Go dear, before we’re dead.” Molly nodded, and without even removing her blood stained coat, rushed upstairs to his room, leaving Mike laughing in her wake.

When she got there, she slowed herself down and tried to walk into the room calmly. She saw Mycroft asleep on a chair in the far corner of the rather grand private suite that Sherlock had been put in, and Sherlock was staring at him, somewhat confused by the state of his brother.

“Hello Molly.” He hadn't even looked away from his brother when he greeted her, and she entered the room more quietly than before, as if she were intruding, and she supposed she felt like she was.

“I was told you were asking for me.” Molly replied, sitting down on the chair farthest from him as possible.

“Yes. Do sit closer Molly, you’re too far away to talk quietly with and I’d rather not wake the beast.” Sherlock nodded towards his brother as he spoke and Molly couldn't help but smile as she went to take the seat right next to his bed.

“You were shit Sherlock. Absolute shit.” Molly said suddenly, unsure as to where her confidence was coming from. “You scared all of us. Me. Greg. Your brother. Your parents. I’ve seen parents cry when they came to identify bodies at the morgue, and it is the worst sight ever, and that is what your parents looked like Sherlock.” Sherlock almost looked sheepish, or maybe it was a trick of the dim light in the room.

“Molly…”

“No, no, I’m going to talk now.” Molly snapped. “Shit, Sherlock, when I saw you lying there on my bed I thought, for a second, you were dead. I’d heard you moan from outside but … you could have died in the time it took me to get to the room. I thought… and then Mycroft told me a couple of weeks ago that this was the third time you’d done this. The third fucking time. What the hell is wrong with you?” Her growing indignation was surprising even her. “Sherlock, you have people who love you, who care for you. You have friends whether you like it or not. Family. I know life must be hard for a genius, and you must feel like shit a lot, but fuck, Sherlock, this is not the way to deal with it. Not when…” She could feel the tears rolling down her eyes. “I…I know I haven’t known you long Sherlock, and I have no right to say this, but you are a completely irresponsible prat and you are a shit person to be friends with. How…how could you…” Molly took some deep breaths before continuing “Don’t ever, EVER do this again do you understand me? Ever. I’ll never forgive you if you do.”

“What makes you think I care about your opinion of me?” Well, he was being a complete arse again. Looks like he was feeling better.

“You’re a shit friend.” Molly got up from her seat and moved to leave, but felt a hand stop her. “I’m not going to sit around and just let…”

“Molly…I’m sorry.” Sherlock sounded so…sincere.

“Why are you apologizing to me? You never apologize.” Molly looked at him questioningly.

“Don’t go.” He replied. “Sit a bit longer. Besides….” He looked over at his brother, still asleep “I’ll need a backup for when he wakes up.” Molly smiled and sat back down, looking between the two brothers.

“I’m serious you know. Sherlock. I’ll never forgive you if you do this again. I can’t… I can’t go through that again. I can’t think you’re dying again. I know we just met, but I have a feeling we’ll know each other for a long time. If you ever pull this shit again and you don’t die, I’ll slap you so hard you’ll see stars, and then it’s over.” She sat back in the chair, surprised that he had to sarcastic remark about how she couldn’t possibly know how long they’ll know each other in the future or some other. He just remained silent. Molly Hooper was something else. Even in his socially inept mind, Sherlock knew he had met someone special. Someone who’d stay with him no matter what.

Which is why, five years later, in the car of John and Mary Watson, when he heard his best friend say “I’m calling Molly Hooper.” He felt his veins run cold, and when he asked why and got “Because Sherlock Holmes needs to pee in a cup.” He knew then he’d royally fucked up. Well and truly. And for once, the great Sherlock Holmes was at a complete loss as to what to do. And, an hour later, true to her words five years prior, Molly Hooper slapped Sherlock Holmes so hard he saw stars.

 


	2. Cold Shoulder Autopsy Lab

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post HLV. Molly is giving Sherlock the cold shoulder and John can't stop laughing.

* * *

 

John Hamish Watson was very amused right now. Very amused indeed. Fighting the strong urge to snap a picture of the scene and send it to Mary, he sat on his usual stool in the morgue at St. Bart’s, watching as his best friend skirted cautiously around the mousy, but by no means meek, pathologist. 

It had been a month since Sherlock’s second official ‘return’ to help take down the new terrorist group headed by none other than Moriarty himself. How he managed to pull off the act was unknown to everyone, even Sherlock. Although it was admitted that no body was found on the roof of St. Bart’s, it was widely believed Moriarty was well and truly dead.-

And now here they were. Molly was initially reluctant to let Sherlock back into the lab. John was more than welcome, and for a couple of weeks, he’d be the go between, but what with Mary getting closer and closer to her due date, that was increasingly becoming annoying. So he negotiated with Molly and they eventually came to the agreement that Sherlock could come back in, but his first two weeks had to be chaperoned. ("To be honest, it's more for his protection than mine. I'm going to be tempted to hit him in the head with a metal pan." Molly admitted. "Yes but I'd probably let you hit him in the head with the pan." He'd replied. "Well, I'll be less likely to do it with you around." "Understandable.")

"John?" John turns towards where Molly is working on a recently brought in cadaver, her hands and coat covered in blood, as well as her shield mask. She looked like something out of a slasher film. 

"Yeah ?" he replied, getting up and walking over to her.

"Do me a favor and please make him stop staring at me. It's a bit unnerving when one is cutting up a dead body." she said simply, before returning to her autopsy. John turned to look at his best friend, and sure enough, he was staring at the pathologist. This was a side of Sherlock John had never seen before, and he would be lying if he said he wasn't at least a bit pleased. 

He walked over to where Sherlock was pretending to look over a couple of bacteria samples from a case last week, his smug smile never leaving his face. Sherlock was once again looking through the scope, although John could see the annoyance in his form. Oh this was golden. 

"Don't." was all he said as John sat down on the stool next to him.

"Don't what?" John asked with an obviously fake sense of innocence. 

"You know what." Sherlock snapped. "Don't say anything."

"I wasn't going to say anything like I'm sure you thought I would. I am just passing a message along from Molly. She wants you to stop staring at her while she cuts up that poor bastard the cops found near the Tower of London." John picked up the sample Sherlock didn't have under the scope and studied it. "What is this? Saliva?"

"Blood and saliva." Sherlock corrected. "Found on the ground near the crime scene."

"Yeah, I remember. But uh...didn't the victim say it was his? That it came out of his mouth when the arsehole who mugged him punched him in the jaw? What could you possibly find out from analyzing this? It was a fairly straight forward crime." 

"Except for the fact that the person who mugged him was dressed like Tinkerbell." Sherlock reminded him.

"Yes, except that." John set the sample back on the counter and turned to his friend. "Regardless of the thief's odd attire, there is still nothing to gain from this. Why are you here? Why aren't you frollicking about London looking for loonies dressed up as Disney characters trying to rob people in alleys?" 

"Lestrade has that under control." Sherlock mumbled, still looking intently (more than he really needed to) at the other sample under the scope.

"Are you ill?" John asked. 

"What?"

"Are. You. Ill?" John repeated slowly. 

"No John I'm fine. I recovered from the bullet wound and all other things nicely. I'm fine. Why?"

"You're acting weird. You're looking over evidence that will not give us any information. You are actually admitting that Lestrade is capable of doing his job, which he is, and you haven't been even remotely rude to me or Molly this entire time we've been here today. In fact, you've been rather...polite, since we started this little arrangement. What gives?" 

"Nothing. I'm fine John. I'm...turning over a new leaf." Sherlock got up from his stool but then stopped, and stared at Molly once more. 

"Something wrong?" John asked once again, having a feeling he knew exactly what was wrong.

"Nothing. I just...I need a sample and it's in the fridge." Sherlock replied. 

"So? Go get it." 

"The fridge is..."

"Behind the exam table. Yes. I know." John was loving this. Ohhh he was really loving this. Sherlock glared at him, but that just made John smile even more. 

"Could you maybe...?" Sherlock began, nodding over towards the fridge.

"Get the sample for you? No Sherlock, I'm not your lackey. You get it yourself."

Sherlock didn't move one bit, and John was in heaven seeing his friend so uncomfortable. Served the man right. 

"Sherlock for fucks sake get your sample. I'm not going to bite." Molly shouted without looking up from her job at hand. 

Sherlock flinched but still inched closer, unsure. This woman had become such a huge part of his life, his confidant, his shelter, his savior, that being in this situation was something new and admittedly terrifying. She had the power to save him and destroy him in one fell swoop. He later found out from Mycroft that it was Molly who'd called him right after she did the test to see if he had drugs in his system, which later sent him , Anderson, and his fanclub cronies to his flat. Her anger towards him after he was found to be using him was crushing as well, and her refusal to talk to him was eating him up inside. If he were to be honest with himself, something he didn't like to do too often, he would say that Molly had been all those things ever since they'd met. She'd proved as much when she found him in her flat, nearly passed out from an overdose, and how she saved his life. She'd always been there for him and he'd royally fucked up and didn't know how to fix this fuck up.

"Sherlock." How did he fix this?

"Sherlock." Would she be mad at him forever?

"Sherlock..." would she stay entirely true to her word and never ever be his friend again?

"SHERLOCK!" Sherlock snapped out of his haze and turned to see Molly staring at him, a bonesaw in one hand and the body's liver in another, her face a cross of skepticism and ....dare he say, amusement? "You gonna get your sample or are you gonna stay there staring like a space case?" Sherlock could hear John laughing in the background and felt his cheeks flush. He stuttered an excuse about having to visit his parents, grabbed his coat, and rushed out of the lab. In his wake, John and Molly stared for a moment before they burst out laughing. 

"You're evil." John commented, sitting down at his original chair by the desk in the lab. 

"Oh I know. Isn't it lovely?" Molly replied, smirking. 

"You really never going to forgive him?" John asked, his smile still in place, but a bit of genuine curiosity lying in his voice.

"No. I mean... I'll forgive him eventually." Molly admitted, putting the liver on a scale and then into a pouch labeled to go to another lab. "I kind of already have it's just..." 

"He's a wanker and needs to be taught a lesson." John finished.

"Yeah." Molly set the pouch down and went to sit at the desk, sighing. "I should feel bad but..."

"I don't blame you. He deserves it." John began fiddling with a little sculpture on the desk, one of marble, a brain. " It's always the ones he loves that are able to get to him like this. It's like we have a super power." 

"Sherlock doesn't... I mean he ..." Molly blushed and then suddenly found the blotter on the desk fascinating, making John smile once more.

"Oh yes he does. I can tell. Mary can tell. Lestrade can tell, admittedly not happy about it, I'm pretty sure he likes you as well. Hell, even Mycroft can tell. You're something special Molly Hooper, and don't you forget that." John told her this with the most sincere conviction she'd ever heard, and she couldn't help but smile again. "He's rotten at this stuff. He'll come around. Try not to torture him too much about it. Although I know it's tempting." Molly nodded and John stood up , stretching out. "I should probably head home. I promised Mary I'd cook for her tonight." he picked up his coat and headed for the door.

"Ah okay. Give her my love yeah?" Molly called after him. He waved his hand in signal that he heard her and went out the door.

When he'd left, Molly grabbed her phone from the desk and sent a message to Mary. 

 _You were right. John confirmed it._ -MH. 

A few seconds later and...

 _Well duh. Even I could tell he was smitten with you. Just like that one bloke I shot in Hungary that one time._ -MW

PING!

 _He kept telling me he'd become so smitten with me and he had. The asshole had a family though. Huge one. And he wanted an affair? Arsehole._ \- MW

PING!

 _We'll continue this conversation during Saturday brunch. See you then! Love you!_ \- MW

PING!

 _OH! I thought of a bonus! When you guys get married, if you decide to change your name, you're initials will be the same! Score!_ \- MW. 

Why couldn't Molly have any normal friends?

 


	3. How Mary Became Best Friends With Molly (And Sherlock's Fate Was Unknowingly Sealed)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course Mary already knew Molly before she got married. She'd met her several times over the months she and John were just dating and became good friends with her. She was more than happy to invite her to the wedding. She loved Molly. But it wasn't until after the wedding, during the whole fiasco with Sherlock and Mag....that man, and Janine, did they become close.

* * *

 

Mary sat in the living room of the flat she and John shared, staring at the fireplace and feeling...well for lack of a better word, feeling bored out of her mind. Bored. Tired. And ....lonely. 

Very lonely. 

That night replayed in her head constantly and every time she got that look John gave her in the hallway in her mind's eye, she felt her heart crush once again. It had been the right thing, if she was to be honest, and she couldn't fault Sherlock for doing what he did. Despite the repercussions, she was kind of glad it was all out in the open, so to speak. But that didn't stop the hurt, the loneliness, the sadness she felt every morning when she woke up and John wasn't there next to her. They'd decided that he would stay at the Baker Street flat for awhile, and would come to check on her and make sure she didn't need help around the flat, every day. She'd switched shifts with some perky brunette at the clinic, and couldn't tell if John was hurt by this or happy. If Mary were to be entirely honest with herself, she didn't really want to know the answer to that. 

When she heard someone knocking at the door, she got up very slowly, and went to grab the gun she kept hidden in the closet. It wasn't John, John didn't knock. It wasn't Sherlock, he usually shouted his arrival. Who else would come there? She wasn't 'friends' with Janine anymore. As much as she'd grown fond of the woman over the months, she cut her ties with her after the whole thing with Sherlock. Best not risk her finding out things she needn't find out. 

She got to the door and peered through the peephole, a bit startled to see none other than Molly Hooper outside her door. A bit shocked, for why would Molly come to her place, Mary opened the door without realizing she'd neglected to hide the gun again. Which is why Molly got a look of shock herself upon seeing the gun in the very pregnant woman's hand. Mary looked down, and, seeing the gun, swore.

"Shit. I meant to hide it again. I'm sorry. Come on in Molly, what brings you here?" Mary walked back into the flat and Molly followed, slowly, still eying the gun until Mary put it back in the closet.

"John sent me." Molly replied. "He and Sherlock are...busy. With something. What, I don't really know to be honest, but he asked me to look in on you and I'd just finished work so I thought why not?" Mary motioned for her to sit on one of the chairs before lowering herself back into the chair by the fireplace where she'd been before. 

"I thought you were mad at Sherlock." 

"I am. I'm not mad at John. Never have been. He's always been a good friend. He's a good man." Molly looked nervously at her bag and avoided looking at her in the eyes.

"I take it he told you then?" Mary asked, picking at the lint on her sweater. "About...my past?"

"No. He didn't." Molly replied honestly. "Sherlock did. Although it was sort of an accident. I'm not letting him in the lab anymore and he blurted it out over the phone as if gossip would get him back in. Wanker. I wouldn't have believed him except I couldn't think of why he would make something like that up." Molly looked at Mary, and felt her heart ache for the woman. "The gun helped confirm it though." Molly teased. Mary blushed, but then smiled.

"I'm sorry about that. I just... I'm a bit on edge." 

"It's understandable." Molly piped up, giving Mary what she hoped was a sympathetic look. 

"I'm sorry about any issues that might have arisen because of Janine." Mary blurted suddenly. Molly looked at her, surprised.

"What do you mean? She was always nice to me. I never had any problems with her."

" I meant any issues that may have arisen between you and Sherlock because of the whole..." Mary stopped talking when she saw the look on Molly's face. 

" I don't know what you mean. There was nothing to get in the way of." 

"Oh...well I mean... I got the impression that you and Sherlock kind of..." 

"No. I mean... no. At one point I thought that maybe....but then he left, and by the time he came back there was Tom. And then ... but I was wrong. I mean..." Molly sighed and laid back against the chair. "It's complicated." she finally admitted. "Me and Sherlock... for a long time it was me pining after him and him being rather oblivious to the fact. I think he knew on some level, and he used to use that as a way to get things. And... it gets so lonely down at the morgue sometimes, I just wanted someone around with a pulse. And then slowly, we got closer. I helped him with the Fall, and there was a moment soon after...." Molly blushed and Mary's eyebrows went up "But then he left, he left and I met Tom, and Tom had proposed by the time Sherlock got back. I ... something made me think Sherlock wouldn't ever return. And even if he did, I couldn't wait for him forever." Mary nodded in understanding. "Sherlock asked me to help with a few cases after he got back. When John was still not talking to him. At the end of it... he kind of asked me out on a date, but I think he already knew... he'd seen the ring , and it doesn't take a genius to figure that out. And after that... I don't know. He was friendly around me. We're on rather equal grounds now. But there has been something about how he's acted around me. Especially when I was around Tom... I don't know."

"Sounds to me like a man smitten." Mary commented, getting up. "I'm gonna make us some tea yeah? You hungry?" 

"Oh! Oh no, no I'll do it. I'm supposed to be here to help you and..."

"I can make us some tea and heat some sausage rolls. I'm managing." Mary smiled at her to show there were no hard feelings and waddled over to the kitchen. "Keepy talking!" she shouted back. 

"Oh! Oh. Well... I mean... it wasn't Janine that put a huge stopper in all this, not really. It was..."

"The drug use?" Mary called out.

"Yeah. I found him, five years ago, after his fourth relapse. He came to my flat instead of going to Mycroft. We'd just met a few months prior. It was difficult. I made him swear he would never do that again. He came very close to dying. I told him I'd never forgive him if he did that again. And he goes and does it... I don't care if it was for a case. He could have died. Although I admit, when I looked at the samples, I was tempted to kill him myself." Molly heard a small laugh come from the kitchen and she smiled.

"Yeah, but to be fair, a lot of what Sherlock does and says makes you want to kill him." Mary came back into the room with a tray of food. "Tea will be ready soon. Eat up." Molly nodded and took a sausage roll off the tray before putting it on the plate Mary offered. 

" I think you two would make a lovely couple. Not that I'm trying to pressure you into anything." Mary hastened to say. "Sherlock needs someone who won't put up with any of his bullshit and you fit the bill." 

"Thank...you?" Molly's eyes crinkled with laughter. "I don't know. We'll see." 

"Me and John, we're going through this...separation." Mary began, sitting back. " And honestly, I've never felt so...lost. I'm afraid. Not for my future entirely, taking care of the child. I lived a life before John, I could live a life after. It's just that... I don't want to. I was alone before and I thought I was fine with that. But then I met John and everything changed. I'd fallen in love for the first time in my life, and for a bit, I thought everything would be okay. I thought I could live a normal life and be a normal person. John made me feel ...normal, safe, loved. And then Mag....that man I'm sure Sherlock mentioned, sent me this...postcard, and I knew who it was. I knew he'd found me. And everything changed once again. I was trying to get close enough to try and destroy him, hence Janine, but before that I'd had the upper hand. He didn't know about me, or so I thought. And I knew then that just letting him go wasn't an option anymore. No with John in the picture. I couldn't risk that. And I believe you know the rest of the story." 

" I do. But I don't blame you really. I think you played the situation very well." Molly admitted. 

"Thank you." Mary looked at the pathologist in amazement. "I..." suddenly she heard the kettle whistle and blushed. "Better get that." 

An hour later the women were laughing and sharing stories, a solid friendship forming. Little did the boys know...


	4. The Fallen Can Always Get Back Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been a long day. Very long indeed. After all, faking your own death has never been historically easy.

* * *

 

It was late, nearly three a.m. , by the time they made it to Molly's tiny little flat. The chaos of the day was weighing heavily on both of them, and for once, Sherlock couldn't be bothered to act like he was alright. She was quiet as she unlocked the door and they slipped in, Molly going first and Sherlock quietly following. Molly set down her bag and motioned for Sherlock to put the suitcase Mycroft had gotten for him on the floor next to the couch. Neither of them had said a word since they left St. Bart's an hour ago, but no words were needed. When Molly tilted her head towards her kitchen, Sherlock shook his head and collapsed onto the couch, exhausted. Molly walked into the hallway that led to her room and took a couple of pillows and a blanket from a linen cupboard and walked back out, half expecting him to be asleep already. He wasn't. She set the pillows and blanket next to him on the couch and moved to go to the bathroom to shower, but felt a tug on the jacket she was still wearing. She turned to see Sherlock sitting there, his eyes surprising her with a look of vulnerability. Without a word, Molly moved the blanket and pillows over and sat down next to him on the couch. She wasn't entirely sure how long they simply sat there, not saying anything, but eventually the silence had to be broken, and she was a bit surprised when Sherlock was the one to break it. 

"Did I do the right thing?" Molly was surprised by what he asked. The great Sherlock Holmes was seriously doubting himself, and it was not something she was too accustomed to even though this was not the first time he'd shown her how much he was doubting himself. 

"Of course you did. There was no other choice." Molly replied, picking at the ends of the pillow cases next to her. " You couldn't risk their lives like that. You had to go up there. And you had to do what he said, even if it was all a charade. You couldn't take that risk, that he was bluffing. Not with the people you care about in danger." 

"I was lucky he overlooked the most important one." Sherlock admitted. 

"Oh? Whose that?" Molly couldn't help her curiosity, and she had to admit, there was a tiny part of her that wondered if he meant....The Woman. John had told her that Irene Adler was dead, but there was something about the entire situation that made her believe that she wasn't. If anyone could have saved her, it was Sherlock Holmes. 

"The only one who can see me." he declared. " The only one who could see right through my facade and know that I wasn't the well held together man I was letting everyone believe I was. The only person I've felt like I could trust in the past five years." Molly blushed, and for the first time that day, Sherlock genuinely smiled. "I got lucky. Moriarty wasn't as perceptive as he thought he was. He believed you to be inconsequential when in reality, you were the key to all of this." Sherlock's smile vanished and he sighed. "Of course, it wasn't exactly hard for anyone to believe that, considering how I treat you."

"Sherlock..." 

"No, Molly, I am recognizing all the errors of my ways. How I can try to be better. I have people who care about me, I know this. And yet, I cannot seem to act like a normal human being as John puts it. I've always considered caring to be a disadvantage." 

"It doesn't have to be." Molly added quietly. 

"I know. Or at least I do now. But you have to admit, caring is what got all these people in to this mess to begin with. Perhaps pretending not to care would benefit the people I love rather than admitting it." 

"Oh...Sherlock... well... I mean..." 

"You have to admit the logic is sound." Sherlock looked at her, his eyes filled with hurt. "I am the reason so many people I care about get hurt. If it wasn't for me, they wouldn't have been targeted. If it wasn't for Moriarty promising to burn the heart out of me, they..." 

"Sherlock, stop it." Molly snapped. And he did, much to her surprise. " You attract people like me, and John, and Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson because despite what many may believe and despite what you too apparently believe, you are a good person deep down. You care about us and you show us this in your own weird way. We care about you because we know who you really are and we want to protect that. That's why Lestrade snaps at Anderson and Donovan whenever they try to bring you down, and why John has punched his fair share of people in the face over you, and why Mrs. Hudson sent out a destroy order through old mafia friends on this one...no you know what you should hear that story from her some day. My point is, Sherlock, you are stuck with us. No matter how hard you push, we'll be here, and you can't do a damn thing about it so there." Molly eyed him curiously, waiting for him to respond, and he looked at her in amazement. 

"Thank you Molly." 

"Of course." Molly got up from the couch and winced when she saw the time. It was already encroaching on 5 pm. There went her sleep. "Well shit, there's no point in my going to bed now. I'd have to wake up in less than an hour anyway. I'll make breakfast. The sleep deprivation look will help sell it today when I go in and  deal with your 'autopsy'." She swiftly walked from the room and into the kitchen. "I'd advise you get some sleep though. Isn't one of Mycroft's people coming to pick you up later to smuggle you out of the country?" 

"Yes." 

"Well then, get some sleep Sherlock Holmes." 

And for the first time in months, Sherlock Holmes slept soundly. 


	5. The Sister-In-Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary and Molly have lunch dates ever Saturday. One day, they have a surprise visitor as they're leaving the building the Watsons live in.

* * *

 

Molly had been having regular Saturday lunch (sometimes brunch) dates with Mary Watson (nee Morstan...sort of) for almost two years now,  and she had to admit, she'd grown to love these outings with her now best friend. Even the arrival of Amanda Louise Watson didn't deter their kept friendship date every Saturday. (Even though Amanda was born on a Friday, Mary had insisted Molly come to her recovery room with some food and they chat about things. She'd even told John and the now ever present Sherlock to get lost.) Nothing had changed really in the months since little Amanda's birth, and the women still kept up with their tradition, even if it meant bringing the little girl with her shock of strawberry blonde ("Really John, did you think I was a natural blonde? No. I'm more...red.")  hair and  piercing grey eyes. 

Today it was expected that the newest Watson was to join them for their lunch date. John was away in Dublin for a medical conference and Sherlock had been dragged to the country by Mycroft for a family reunion, so that meant they had the child. Mary, being who she was, with a healthy dose of paranoia and an anxiousness sensed in all new mothers, wasn't ready to hire a nanny for her, and Molly understood her logic. When asked why he couldn't just take the child with him to the country, for Sherlock's parents doted on Amanda Louise as if she were their own granddaughter ("Oh nonsense Sherlock, John is practically family anyway. Our other son. Of course Amanda's our granddaughter as well." Mrs Holmes had reprimanded one day after she and Mr. Holmes had set up a rather generous school fund for her.), Sherlock replied that his mother was starting to ask about biological grandchildren, and little Amanda's presence would make her more likely to pester him and Mycroft about the subject. Mary had rolled her eyes at this but didn't push the matter. There was no point in doing so. 

"Molly! Lovely! Come on in. I just need to grab a small blanket for Amanda's stroller." Mary greeted at the door. Molly smiled and walked in and over to the stroller where little Amanda, who had given what sounded like a happy gurgle, was sitting. "How are you today Mols?" Mary called from the other room. 

"Oh I'm lovely. How about you?" she called back while tickling Amanda on her stomach and making her laugh. 

"Smashing. It's been an unusually quiet day, which is a blessing. Don't you think it looks like it's going to rain? I think it might rain. I better get the umbrella. We should probably take a cab rather than walk, wouldn't you say?" 

"Yeah, sounds good. I'll phone a cab." Molly replied, taking her phone out of her bag. When she checked it she saw that she had 25 text messages and ten missed calls, all from Sherlock. Molly snickered. "Looks like Sherlock is just having the best time at this reunion. Twenty-five text messages and ten missed calls, all from him...no wait, one of the missed calls is from Mycroft. Dear god, it must be awful." Mary laughed as she settled the blanket around Amanda, and put the umbrella on top of the stroller to carry. Molly called the cab, which would be there in ten minutes, and they headed down to the foyer. It was with considerable surprise that they saw a figure of a fair skinned woman with reddish-blonde hair walk up the steps of the building, come on in, and say beaming...

"Mary! Molly! How lovely to see you! My brother said he'd be away for awhile and I thought I'd pop in to say hello!" Harriet Watson was standing before them, positively beaming and holding quite a few bags of groceries from what looked to be Waitrose, as well as her purse. 

"Harry, hello, I didn't know you'd be stopping by. Molly and I were actually about to..."

"Go out on your little Saturday lunch date, I know. John told me about that. I wanted to offer to watch Amanda for you so you could have some time alone. And I bought some food, I was going to make dinner later." Mary stood stunned at her sister-in-law, no idea how to respond. Harriet almost never visited them, and she usually told them way ahead of time when she was coming. "Please? I'd like to spend some time with my niece and help out. John's done a lot for me lately, mind from afar but he's still helped me. I want to give back." 

"Oh...well..." Mary hesitated for a moment, looking from her daughter, to Molly, to Harriet, before making a decision. "Alright. Sure." Harriet's smile brightened considerably and she gave a little whoop of happiness.

"Lovely! Wonderful! Thank you so much Mary, really. Me and Amanda will have a lot of fun. I remember the routine from when I babysat a couple of months ago, but has anything changed? Maybe you should just text me the changes. Make it easier. I'm pretty sure you have a cab waiting outside. I'll take Amanda and you two go have a nice lunch alright?" Amanda set the bags and her purse in the little space behind the seat of the stroller before taking it from Mary and waving them off. Mary and Molly were in the cab before they talked about the weird sudden appearance of the ever missing Watson sister.

"Well that was a surprise. I've only ever met her a few times. Does she come around more often lately or...?" Molly ventured.

"No. Not too often. She was here a couple of months ago and she babysat Amanda while John and I went for an anniversary dinner. But we don't see her often." 

"I wonder if something happened to trigger this sudden arrival." Molly pondered. 

"I don't...ohhhh. I think I might know what it is." Mary said suddenly. "John mentioned in his call this morning that Harry had called him in tears last night. I guess her ex-wife Clara is engaged." 

"Oh. Oh that is awful. Poor Harriet. But wasn't the divorce almost five years ago?" 

"Yeah, but I guess for awhile there it looked like she and Clara might get back together, and I guess Harry got her hopes up." Mary sighed and leaned back into the seat, looking at London as it rushed by through the drops on the windshield. Umbrella. Rain. Good call on the cab. 

"Poor Harriet." Molly felt sympathy for the woman, and wished there were something she could do. Not that she knew Watson the older too well, but she could see that deep down she was a good person. She just needed to be given a chance. "I wish there was something we could do." 

"Any available lesbian or bisexual women at the hospital?" Mary asked, eyes suddenly glowing with what Molly had come to know as her 'match-maker' eyes. 

"Ah...actually yes. Melisa Callister. She's cute. Brunette. Blue eyes. An admittedly fantastic ass." Mary giggled at that and Molly smirked. "And I do seem to remember her saying she was in the market for a new girlfriend. I'll give Harriet her number later." 

"Fantastic!" Mary exclaimed as they pulled up to the lunch place they'd decided on that day. Speedy's. "So, we have lunch, go visit Mrs. Hudson for a bit, and then we set my sister in law up with the new potential love of her life. We are amazing Molly, simply amazing. Harry will forget Clara in no time. Soon it'll be Clara Who? We're brilliant." Mary bounded out of the cab, tossing a wad of pounds to the driver and telling him to keep the change. Molly laughed as she got out herself and they ran into the sandwich shop. "Just you wait Mols, we'll be at their wedding next, I can feel it." Molly smiled and they ordered their food. 

"Bet you'll be the maid-of-honor for Harry." Molly commented.

" I better be. Of course there's one little snafu in what I said." Mary said breezily as she sipped her drink. Molly looked at her curiously. 

"Oh? What's that?"

"Well hers might not be the next wedding we attend." 

"Oh really? And whose wedding will we attend next?" 

"Why, yours and Sherlock's of course." Mary replied in a matter of fact tone.

As Molly choked on her drink and sputtered, Mary smirked and patted her friend on the back.


	6. When Mary Met John(ny).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary Morstan had arrived in London months ago, but just now managed to snag a job close to home with reasonable pay. What more could a girl want really? Of course, she wasn't going to complain about the cute doctor she would be working with either...

* * *

 

To say that Mary Morstan's life had been complicated would be like saying the Globe Theater was just a theater. 

She wanted to leave her old life behind and never look back. She'd never planned to end up doing what she did. It just...happened. Of course, how something like that could just happen is a fairly odd circumstance and worthy of questioning, but she never claimed to understand how life worked. She could only claim she was skilled at eliminating it. No one had a better shot than she did, and in the inner circles of the intelligence agencies, she was someone to be feared. If she was sent on a mission to kill someone, that person would not be alive by the end of that mission, that was a guarantee.  She'd done a lot she was not proud of and she wanted to fix that. She wanted to turn her life around. Which is how she got to where she was now. 

She had to admit, getting a job as a nurse in a clinic was very ironic, but again, who was she to try and understand how life worked? 

"You got the job Ms. Morstan. Congradulations. You'll be starting on Monday. Eight a.m. sharp. You'll be working with one of our best doctors, John Watson." Mary had been thrilled when she was told over the phone that she had gotten the job. The first big step to her starting her life anew.  And then she heard the name of the doctor she'd be working with and she wondered if her curiosity would get the best of her and she'd do something stupid, like grill him for his life story. Old spy/assassin habits die hard. "And yes," the voice on the other end of the phone said after she had said nothing for a few seconds. " it is  _that_ John Watson. I know you probably wouldn't but I would ask you to try not to ask him about it. It's an understandably touchy subject with him and we try not to bring it up." 

"Oh...oh of course I won't say anything. The poor man. I'll be the picture of discretion, don't you worry." Mary had hastened to reply, wondering if that had been the axe, so to speak, for previous nurses at the clinic. 

"Thank you Ms. Morstan. See you on Monday."

Monday rolled around and Mary stepped into the clinic surprisingly nervous about starting this new job. She knew of John Watson, and had heard that he was a very kind, reasonable man, but a lot can change when you lose someone close to you. Mary knew that a little too well. Still, she doubted the clinic would have kept him on if he was an asshole so she betted that he was still a kind, reasonable man. 

"Hello, you must be Mary. I'm John." Mary started (She was really out of practice with staying in sync with her surroundings.) and turned to look at the man she'd be working with from now on. She smiled. The moustache was a bit of a surprise. She didn't know he'd grown a mustache. Not that that would be public knowledge, nor should it really. But she was still surprised. He was handsome. Very handsome. The only pictures she'd seen of him were the slightly blurry black and white photos she'd seen in the newspaper, and one or two color photos online that didn't show off his favorable qualities. She was...pleasantly surprised.

"Hello John, I look forward to working with you. I hear you're a wonderful doctor." Mary replied, shaking his hand and smiling back at him. 

"Well you certainly have impressive credentials from what I saw. I'm sure the pleasure will be all mine... I mean...shit. That did _not_ come out right." He was blushing now and Mary couldn't help but laugh. The man was adorable, and this, she believed, was a very good sign.

"Oh well doctor, I'm not that kind of girl. You have to treat me to dinner a couple of times before we explore that." Mary quipped, a bit surprised by her own forwardness. This made his blush deepen and she could not help but giggle. She never giggled. John was bringing something out of her she hadn't had since she was a girl. And she liked it very much. 

"Can we do a redo so I can claim I didn't sound like a complete arse when we first met?" John asked sheepishly. 

"Oh no, no no no doctor, I am saving this moment in my mind for posterity. I will bring this up one day in the far future and it will be for blackmail, I assure you." 

"You're a cheeky one Ms. Morstan." John commented, a grin on his face.

"As are you Dr. Watson." she replied. 

It took John two months to suck it up and ask her out, and, during their first date, Mary felt like a normal human being for the first time in over fifteen years. And something deep down told her that this man would be in her life forever. 


	7. His Pathologist. Her Sociopath.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock considers Molly as they sit, once again, listening to a client tell them their story. (John refusing to help that week since "Dear god man Mary just had my daughter. I am staying home.")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm not entirely sure what I originally had in mind for this but it was not what I eventually wrote. HOWEVER, I am glad because I'm actually kind of proud of this.

* * *

 

"Sit. Tell us your case." As the two clients sat down on the couch and told their story to Sherlock and Molly (John was staying home that week as Mary had just had their daughter Amanda Louise a few days prior. When Sherlock tried to insist, he got a "Fuck off Sherlock." and a dial tone.), he couldn't help but watch the woman sitting in the armchair five feet away, listening intently. He was, in his defence, paying attention to the young women who were now in tears...that didn't take long, but a good portion of his attention was focused on one Molly Hooper. Pathologist. _His_ pathologist. 

Or at least, she used to be his pathologist. 

They were on friendly grounds again. She was letting him back into the lab without his John Watson escort, and they'd even had lunch a couple of times, but he knew that she was still upset, and rightly so. He knew it was a combination of things and not just his taking drugs and ending up in a crack house...again. It was the drugs, his cold attitude, his lack of caring, how he played Janine, his relationship (though it could hardly be called that) with Janine itself. All of it. Molly was a patient, kind woman but everyone has their snapping point and she'd reached hers.

"And then, the ring went missing!" The redhead of the pair (The other woman was a brunette.) managed to say through her tears. " I hadn't even noticed until it was too late! And I had had everything planned so well! Everything was perfect. And I ruined it." 

"No you didn't." the brunette soothed "Sweetie this wasn't your fault. Someone, some asshole stole the ring and you couldn't have known. Why would you? You put it in a safe place. The fact that it was stolen is why we're  here to see Mr. Holmes and Dr. Hooper." Molly reached over to the table nearby and handed the brunette a box of tissues, which she took with a small sad smile and a nod. 

"When did you last see the ring?" Sherlock inquired, making sure they knew he was indeed listening. "Like physically saw the ring itself and not just the box." 

"Um... about seven hours before I found it was gone. I'd hidden it in the hallway closet and went on to get everything ready for the proposal. When I went back later it..."

"Quite." Sherlock steepled his fingers and looked at the couple. "Who knew you were going to propose?" 

"Oh. Well...only a few people. The jeweler obviously. My parents. They were so excited for me. And...oh no." the redhead's eyes went wide with realization. 

"What is it? Who else knew?" Molly asked, scooting forward on her seat. 

"I...my best friend Mimi. She's the only other person who knew and...oh but that can't be. We were in grade school when...and she doesn't feel that way anymore surely. It's been years...especially not after what happened a few years ago. We stopped talking for months. She was so angry and rightfully so. How could she..."

Love was something Sherlock still didn't entirely understand. He knew what it was in a scientific sense. Chemicals in the brain and all that. Animal attraction. Looking at someone and your primal instincts kicking in and thinking 'they would make a good mate'. But the emotional, human side of it? The part that controlled feelings, ended friendships and began relationships was still a mystery. 

He supposed, as clever as he was, he should have seen this coming. He'd felt a strong connection to the woman as soon as they met, although he hadn't realized it at the time. Why else would he have gone to her rather than his brother or the hospital, all those years ago, when he had relapsed for a fourth time? He knew even then, deep down, that he could trust her, and it was only his pig headed, dogmatic, I-must-not-be-attached attitude that prevented him from strengthening their relationship much earlier on. As much as he really still hated to admit to having emotions and  giving in to human nature, he'd started changing quite a bit after meeting her, and became more open to the idea of having friends and accepting that he was liked. He believed that her influence was part of what made him more applicable to becoming friends with John. Of course, John had changed him quite a lot as well, there was no doubt of that. But Molly? Molly's influence came first. Had lasted the longest. Had set him on his path to becoming more human.

"I am going to kick her ass." the redheaded woman was now fairly furious. For good reason. " I cannot believe she did this. How could she? We agreed. We fucking agreed and she told me she didn't feel that way about me anymore. I kept asking her if she was okay. At one point, before we had our falling out, I'd even considered...I asked. She said she wasn't feeling that way anymore. She approved of you." she turned to her fiancee ("Ring or not of course I'd said yes." the brunette had admitted in a moment of happiness.) "She was excited for me when I told her I was going to propose to you. What happened? How could she do this?" 

"You were entirely sure she no longer felt romantic feelings for you? You had no suspicions that she might have been lying?" Sherlock asked, feeling Molly's eyes staring at him.

"Why would she lie?"

"To protect you. To help you on your way in life. Isn't there some saying that goes 'Loving somebody means letting them go.'? Maybe she was doing that, and the closer your proposal got, the closer the idea of you getting married to someone who wasn't her, the more she realized she couldn't let that happen. Maybe  she believed that if there was no ring your now fiancee would say no. Or perhaps she believed you would change your mind about asking her. Take it as a sign and maybe even break up with her. Maybe she believed she was setting something in motion that would bring you back to her." All three of the women in the room sat there, stunned by his words, and making him rather uncomfortable. "Just a theory. Molly here could tell you I'm rather rubbish at understanding human nature." 

"Well..." the redhead began, her face pensive " I guess...I guess there was a tiny part of me who felt like sometimes she was withdrawing from me. From us. She did look uncomfortable sometimes when we'd all go out, but I had chalked that up to her not really being a social person. She doesn't really do clubbing. Not that there is anything wrong with that of course. I just wanted her to have a good time and relax." the girl sniffled and took another tissue from the box, blowing her nose. "I am a rotten friend. I should have talked to her more. She must have been upset. Not that that would have changed much. I love my fiancee and I want to marry her. I just wish I could have prevented all this. What a mess. She was going to be my maid of honor. How can she be that now? After this? She can't. This may be the end of our friendship." That brought another fresh wave of tears, and the brunette woman put her arms around the redhead's shoulders, holding her close. Molly now had her attention focused back on the pair, her eyes shining with her own tears, threatening to break the barrier. She asked if they would like some tea and the brunette nodded and thanked her. Molly got up and went into the kitchen, leaving Sherlock there with his thoughts. 

That was apparently becoming a dangerous thing to do, as right away his mind turned to Molly and his' relationship. Or whatever it was they had at the moment. He considered the couple before him, their situation, how it was and how it could have been prevented. It had occurred because of missed opportunities and uncertainty and a rather severe lack of communication. As well as the inability to tell the truth when it really mattered. He tried to reason that he had tried, last year when they had been doing exactly what it was they were doing now, the fish and chips. Extra proportions. Of course at the time she had been engaged. Of course she had said no. Molly would always do the right thing in the end and that had been the right thing to do. But now she is not engaged, and as far as he knew she wasn't seeing anyone. They were on relatively good terms once again and he knew she had been staring at him earlier. What were the chances that if he asked her now, she'd say yes? He wasn't sure, but there was a part of him that was increasingly wanting to give it a try. 

"You love her don't you? Dr. Hooper." Sherlock's eyes shot up from where he'd been staring at his steepled hands, to the quiet voice that had addressed him. It was the brunette woman, still holding her crying but calmed down fiancee, and looking at him as if she was looking right into his soul. She had the courtesy to say it quietly so that Molly, still in the kitchen, and from the sound of it, almost ready to come back out with the tea, would not hear. "I...I don't mean to pry, but I couldn't help but notice how you looked at her. And how she was looking at you. I'm usually pretty good at spotting the smitten so to speak." she smiled a genuine smile for the first time since she had gotten there. "She seems like a wonderful person." 

"She is. Better than I deserve." Sherlock admitted. " I..." he stopped talking when he heard Molly come back into the room with a tray. She set it down on the table between them before picking up a couple of empty biscuit plates. 

" I'm going to go downstairs and ask Mrs. Hudson if she has any digestives she can spare. Really Sherlock, you need to go to the store more. And by store I mean grocery, not my bloody morgue." She went out the door and down the stairs, leaving them alone once again.

"Feisty too. Bonus." the redhead had said that, her tears now lessening, and a matching smile forming on her lips to match her fiancee's. "Sorry Mr. Holmes. I guess it's true what they say about engaged and married couples. They want to see everyone else engaged and married." 

"No no. It's quite alright. You're right. I ...I do love her. Quite a bit. I've known her for nearly seven years and yet it took over four for me to realize I may have feelings for her, and I guess three more for me to admit I love her. I'm not very good with human nature and emotions, as I am sure the papers have pointed out in their little write-ups about me. I don't quite know how to approach this matter." 

"What about that engagement we heard about last year? To that woman Janine?" the brunette asked, interested, handing her fiancee a cup of tea. 

"No, remember, that was a farce. She even went to the papers. It was for a case, right Mr. Holmes?" The redhead was definitely feeling much better, her sadness still lingering, but her happiness of having a distraction was very evident.

"Right you are." Sherlock answered, pointing at the young woman. She beamed and turned to her beloved, proceeding to stick her tongue out at her like a child. The other woman rolled her eyes but laughed, and Sherlock couldn't help but smile as well.

"Knew it! I told you. I told her before.  I said 'I bet that was all for a case.', didn't I?" 

"Yes, yes you did. Such a romantic." that quip earned the brunette a smack on the shoulder with a pillow from the couch. "Oi! Abuse! We ain't even married yet! You are a witness Mr. Holmes. She's awful." 

"Oh shove it." the redhead exclaimed, smirking at her fiancee. "Cheeky." 

"Looks like everyone's feeling better up here! I'm glad!" everyone froze when Molly appeared in the doorway, and the girls on the couch looked at Sherlock before they giggled. 

"Yes, much better. Mr. Holmes helped and we are very grateful. I just hope Mimi didn't sell the ring. It is a family heirloom." the redhead admitted, taking one of the chocolate digestives Molly offered, the other woman taking a plain one. Molly set the plates down on the table, accepting the cup Sherlock offered her, and  eying him suspiciously. 

"That right? I hope it wasn't something awful he said. He's not the most social of people. Shit bedside manner." Molly was teasing and he knew it, but the eyeroll he gave her couldn't be stopped. This set the girls off in another fit of giggles. 

"No. He was lovely." the brunette admitted. The four of them sat and talked for another two hours, Molly asking if they had anything picked out already for their wedding, and the three women somehow ending up on Sherlock's laptop, looking at wedding venues and reception ideas. When the girls left, the redhead reached up on her tip toes and kissed Sherlock on the cheek, before whispering to him to suck it the fuck up and ask the woman out or he'd regret it. He smiled at her and she smiled back.

"This has been surprisingly lovely, thank you." The redhead said to the both of them. " I got both your addresses. Be expecting your invitations in the not too distant future. Hope to see you there!" 

"So..." Sherlock began after the pair left. "Molly..." 

"Yeah?" Molly asked, her eyebrows quirked. 

"Fancy some chips? I know the man who owns this shop. He always gives me extra portions." Molly's eyes lit up when she  realized what he was doing, and her smile turned into a smirk. 

"What, did you get him off a murder charge?" 

"No, I helped him put up some shelves." In lieu of a verbal response, Molly walked over to the coat rack, grabbed both their coats and scarves, and after handing Sherlock his, began to put hers on and walk out the door. She was halfway down the steps before she called back to a stunned Sherlock, saying...

"Come on Sherlock! Molly Hooper's date with her favorite sociopath shall not wait any longer!" 

And so he went down the stairs, feeling, for the first time in ages, like everything was going to be alright.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, first, now I want digestives but I am way too lazy to go to the store. Second, this ended up way more 'feel good' than I had intended and that is glorious. Third, I am surprisingly proud of this chapter. :D


	8. Did You Or Didn't You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Molly are hanging out at the Watson's while Mary is out getting Sherlock out of a sticky situation. ("He called and told me to bring my sniper rifle. I'm not going to leave him hanging John." she had said as if it were the most obvious thing ever.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I debated which one-shot set to put this in because it could go either way, but eventually settled for this one.

* * *

 

You know you have an interesting life when  you go to visit a friend and her husband, and your friend gets a call from a mutual friend, telling them to come quick to a certain location and dear god please bring the sniper rifle, no questions asked.

And of course Mary went. Sherlock was in trouble. She wasn't going to leave him to die for god's sake. They already established she would never let that happen. 

So there they were, Molly, John, and little Amanda, sitting there in the living room, chatting. After awhile, John had admitted a curiosity as to how Sherlock and Molly had managed to pull off the Fall, but Sherlock had decided he wasn't going to tell him anything. He wanted to ask Molly but felt that it might be a bit of an awkward thing to ask. John didn't want to put her in an awkward position, but his curiosity was getting the best of him.

"So...Molly..." 

"Yes John?" 

"You know the Fall..."

"Yes John, I know of it very well. I was there." John turned to see the smirk on her face as she continued to play with little Amanda and he laughed.

"Some of Sherlock's brand of sarcasm is rubbing off on you." Molly laughed as she rattled a blue rattle in front of the child, making her giggle. 

"That was awful John, how dare you." Molly joked. "What is it you want to know about the infamous Fall?"

"Well...how you did it." 

"Sherlock hasn't told you?"

"I didn't want to know the first time we met again, after his return so I think he's being childish, not too shocking, and refusing to tell me now that I do want to know."

"Yeah, sounds like him." Molly commented, handing Amanda over to her father. "Well it's a bit complicated. We had all these different scenarios that could happen once he got on the roof. We had to account for all of them. We weren't entirely sure where Moriarty was going to go with his twisted plan. Going over all of those would take forever. We were communicating via text message, all the plans had code names. Sherlock would have had to figure out which one we had to go with fairly quickly and text Mycroft and then Mycroft texted the rest of us." 

"Can I ask...I got kind of...run down by a person on a bike..."

"Yeah, that was part of it, sorry." 

"It's alright. That clears some things up. So, he fell, I saw that." 

"Yeah, he fell."

"How did he...?" 

"Survive it? One of those inflatable things. We had it off to the side. The entire area there was cordoned off. Mycroft made sure of that." 

"Naturally." 

"We had to work quickly though. You were only out for a few minutes."

"How long exactly?" 

" Oh...five or six maybe?"

"Wow, longer than I believed."

"Benefit of having control of the entire situation. And Sherlock's homeless network. And some of Mycroft's people. I doubt Sherlock told you that part."

"No, no he didn't. There was this other woman in a hoodie who wouldn't move out of the way. They pretended they were in hysterics and..."

"Anthea." Molly said simply.

"Anthea? How did I not recognize her?"

"Makeup and the hoodie. She seemed awfully keen to perform. Little things you learn about a person you know." Molly picked up the cup of tea she had on the table and took a sip. 

"Then...? How did you manage to make it look so convincing? He didn't have a pulse." 

"Oh that. Well, it's actually not too difficult to use make-up to fake the head wound. As for the lack of pulse that was my doing." John raised an eyebrow. " Sherlock was playing with this little red rubber ball a lot before the fall. I think the repetitive movement of bouncing it was calming his mind. I had the ball with me, slipped out of the hospital, gave it to him and ran back before he..."

"Put the ball in the pit of one of his arms and pressed. The ball trick." John finished, everything starting to piece together.

"Yeah."

"And the autopsy? I was there at the beginning." 

"Sherlock's idea. There was this man, the poor bastard, he was the guy Moriarty used to scare those children. He was found a week before the Fall. He did look remarkably like Sherlock. It made the autopsy more difficult than I thought it would be. Of course, he was also an assassin so I wasn't terribly put out about it."

"He was?!" John exclaimed, making Amanda gurgle and glare at her father. "Sorry sweetheart."

"Yes. A throwaway I guess. A back up plan for the ones who were sent after you and the others."

" Or he was meant for you." Molly choked on her tea and coughed, John helping.

" I'm sorry? No, he couldn't have been. The only reason this worked is because Moriarty believed Sherlock didn't...care about me." Blushing. She always blushed about that subject.

"Perhaps." John smiled and looked at his friend, thinking about how Sherlock had acted towards her since his return. He knew people well, he could tell when a bloke was smitten, and Sherlock Holmes was smitten with Molly Hooper, and she with him.

" People came up with some wild theories about it though, have you read them? There's an entire site dedicated to them. The one Anderson started?"

"Yeah I've read a few. Anderson's was one of the craziest ones."

"Oh? I don't believe I read his. I wasn't keen on reading about how he believed it was all a big conspiracy and his IQ was in fact good enough to figure it out."

"Even though it was a conspiracy."

"Yes, even though it was a conspiracy."  Another laugh. 

"His was interesting. It involved a bungee cord, a Sherlock mask, and Moriarty's dead body." 

"Wow." 

"I know." 

"It also included an ...interesting bit." John said casually as he shifted Amanda from one leg to another. 

"Oh? What's that?" Molly asked, interested. 

"Well, he believed that after Sherlock crashed through the window of the...fourth floor I believe, I know..." he added, seeing the look on her face " Anderson thinks after he crashed through the window, he ruffled his hair, grabbed you, kissed you, and then walked off like something out of a Bond film." 

"Interesting." Molly replied, noncommittally, sipping her tea and looking anywhere but at John.

"Wait a second..." suddenly they heard the car pull up to the building downstairs, and yelling. ("What the hell was that Sherlock? How did you get yourself into that situation? How? How do you fuck up a situation that badly?" Mary shouted. "I did not fuck up the situation as you put it! I just didn't expect the third little person to have a hand gun! It was hardly appropriate considering the situation with the camel and the elephant!" he rebuttled. "Bullshit Sherlock! You could have used the catapult to your advantage! The clown wouldn't have been able to get to you!" "The clown was sad and had a bright pink nose on. And while he may have a drinking problem he was a crack shot." "He isn't Clint fucking Barton Sherlock, you could have avoided that!" "Who is...?" "MARVEL! Jesus Sherlock, comic books!") and then they heard no more as they went inside.

"What the hell..." John and Molly got up from the couch and went to meet the two at the door. Mary burst into the room carrying the bag she used for her sniper rifle, and a pissed yet amused expression. Sherlock followed looking surprisingly cowed, along with his usual air of 'I didn't do anything wrong.'. Mary smiled at the three before charging into the bedroom. Sherlock huffed and sat down on one of the armchairs in the room, refusing to talk. 

"Sherlock...what..." Molly began.

"Later." he was pouting now, dear god.

"So Molly told me about the Fall. What happened that day." John said smugly. Sherlock shot Molly a 'How could you?' look, to which she just raised an eyebrow.

"All of that day Molly?" Sherlock asked, the air in the room suddenly shifting.

"Well...not all of it." Molly admitted. "Not...that one part."

"Some things are best left private and unsaid." Sherlock agreed. Then the bastard smirked. He bloody smirked, and John noticed the matching grin on Molly's face. Suddenly it was _John_ blushing, and that is how Mary found them when she came back into the room.  

"So...dinner?" Mary asked. "I'm famished. I believe Mrs. Hudson said something about pot roast and potatoes over the phone earlier. Sounds good to me right about now. How about we head over there?" Everyone agreed and they went back to 221 Baker Street, along with little Amanda which thrilled Mrs. Hudson. 

Later on, after Mary, Amanda, and John had left ("I'm going to stay in your old room for the night John. I'm much to tired and you need to get Amanda home." Molly had said.), Sherlock and Molly were left alone in the living room of flat B, drinks in hand, staring at the fire. Suddenly, Sherlock downed the whiskey in one go, got up, and held his hand out to her. Molly looked at him questionably and he simply shrugged. 

"Want to recreate what happened after the Fall?" 


	9. Wasted Enough Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock thinks she didn't know he visited her in the hospital every night. He was wrong.

* * *

 

He thought he was being clever, as he usually is, by only coming at night when she was asleep, the rather powerful pain killers that she was given making sure she slept very well. He should have known that she knew however, she always knew when it came to him. Always. So it was both a surprise and not when, during her second week as a patient instead of an employee at St. Bart's, he was on one of his nightly visits and she called him out on it. 

" I can hear you thinking." The voice was so sudden and unexpected, he literally jumped out of his chair, looking ready to run or fight, whichever became necessary. When he looked to the bed to see her eyes open and looking right at him, he frowned before sitting back down. 

"Highly illogical." he commented. "One cannot hear someone else's innermost thoughts unless that person were to say them out loud." 

"I know Sherlock, it's a figure of speech." Molly slowly  sat herself up, Sherlock jumping up to readjust her pillows so she would be comfortable. She smiled at the gesture and told him to sit back down. " So what is it then? You bribe the four guards I have outside my door and tell the guard waiting every night on the rooftop across the way with a sniper rifle that you're Mycroft's little brother? Or are you drugging them? Please don't tell me you're drugging them with that stuff Billy makes Sherlock, that's more dangerous than it is useful." 

"I tell all five that I am Mycroft's brother and that the person inside is the most important  person to me and I won't let anything happen to her." he said simply.

"So you lie then." 

They looked at each other, both waiting for the other to just say...something. They'd been through a lot in the past years and recently, Tom present or not, they knew they'd entered a new territory with each other. They were still who they were, Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes, same people, different dance. Both knew what was going on but neither wanted to be the first to really bring it up. Sherlock was miffed at first, believing that after all that had happened, she still believed she wasn't important to him, before he realized she might be goading him into doing what he'd been somewhat dreading for ages. 

"Who said I was lying?" 

Ball in her court now, so to speak. She raised an eyebrow at him and he raised one right back. Even in the dark room they were currently sitting in, she could tell the cheeky bastard did so. 

"How's your stomach feeling today?" He asked , as if it were a day to day inquiry like 'Oh, how is Lily doing?' or 'Gotten over that cold yet?' and not an inquiry about the recovery of the part of her anatomy that she'd been shot in. For the first week, he hadn't slept well at all, when he did, having nightmares of reliving the moment when he heard the gun go off and saw her falling to the floor in front of him, on of Moriarty's obsessed goons grinning like a mad man, and still grinning when he went down with a bullet in between his eyes. The only reason he'd slept at all in the past few days was because Mary had been slipping extra strength sleeping pills into the food he'd been eating at dinner. He knew she was doing it, what else would explain her being at the flat every night for the past few days? But he knew it helped her cope with her own feeling of anxiety over Molly. They'd grown quite close and when she saw Molly being rolled down the hall, a bloody Sherlock running behind her, after he'd called her in the ambulance, Sherlock noted how quick she was to sit down and start crying. 

"Better. But you know that. You read my medical charts. And you still haven't answered my question." 

"What question is that?" 

"Don't be an arse. You know what I'm talking about. Are you lying to the guards or not?"

"I'm...I'm not very good at this kind of stuff, you know that." 

"Try."

"No. I wasn't lying to the guards." Sherlock said finally, after a very very long silence. 

"I see." Molly was suddenly very thirsty, and looked around for the pitcher and glass that were supposed to be on her nightstand. She started when a glass of ice water appeared right in front of her, and took it, sipping gently. "Well then Sherlock, what does all this mean?" 

"I'm awful with this Molly, you know that." 

"What do you want it to mean then Sherlock? Where do you want to go from here? What is the next plan?" Molly knew she was pushing it, and yet her curiosity was getting the better of her. She was waiting for him to back down and flee, never to return to the hospital whether she was a patient or an employee.

"I want it to mean...that I might have to find a new bolthole." Sherlock wasn't sure if his choice of words would work. He was trying to be coy, but he'd been told on many occasions by John on cases that coy wasn't exactly his strong suit. 

"So you are running." She said it so quietly that if there'd been any sounds around at all, even the whir of the air conditioning being any louder, he would have missed it. So his coyness didn't work. 

"No, Molly Hooper, I'm just saying that without you at my favorite bolthole, it becomes rather less appealing." 

"Why wouldn't I be at...oh..." even in the dark, Sherlock could tell she was blushing. Her body changed, and her shoulders tensed, and he could practically feel her blushing. 

"Yes Dr. Hooper, oh." 

"You don't...you don't think it'd be moving too...fast?" 

"We've wasted quite a lot of time enough already, wouldn't you agree Dr. Hooper?" 

"Why yes..." Molly replied, smiling. "Yes we have." 

 

The end. 

 


	10. First Kiss The First Or Second?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anderson never could let that theory about the Fall go...
> 
> And apparently, neither could Sherlock.

* * *

 

It'd been two years since Sherlock's return, and about a year since his 're-return', and for a wonder, everything was calm. Besides the odd robbery of expensive art and an occasional murder, things had been slow for the people who made up Sherlock's circle of 'People He Trusted', (Which was, admittedly, a very small circle.) .

Sherlock was currently in Molly Hooper's lab at Bart's (Or as John called it, Sherlock's actual home.), working on his most recent experiment, while Molly did an autopsy on an old man who'd died under 'mysterious circumstances' as his family called it, at the nursing home he'd been at. Sherlock claimed right away that the family was just trying to sue the home for money because they were, as he put it, 'arseholes' who couldn't pay for the new shiny car they obviously owned. Molly rolled her eyes, muttered and 'Obviously' just loud enough for Sherlock to hear, and went to work.

After an hour of amiable silence, Sherlock suddenly spoke.

"So, how many of those crazy theories about the Fall did you have to endure hearing while I was away?" Sherlock asked this without even looking up from the chem set in front of him. Molly replied without looking up from her work on the old man.

"Oh loads." she replied. "People would wait for me outside the hospital, somehow knowing I associated with you. One person even found out where I lived and would probably have camped out there every  night had Mycroft not threatened to deport him." 

"He was from out of the country?" 

"Nope. English born and bred. But Mycroft being Mycroft..." 

"Yes, no need to explain." They could practically see the smiles on the other's faces, and it was oddly calming. 

"Still..." Molly continued, moving stuff around in her tray until she found the wire string and needle she was to use to sew the poor old man back up. "Despite the crazier theories, of which included aliens, Elvis, and one where you were Jesus himself, don't let that get to your head, none of them were as nutty as Anderson's." 

"Ah yes, the Swish Flick Bungee Cord theory, as John has since dubbed it. It is quite...absurd." Sherlock stopped swishing the liquid around in the beaker, and Molly paused for a bit with her stitching before resuming.

"Oh indeed. Quite insane." Molly agreed, her movements quick, precise, and perfect, as usual. 

"Of course, the fact remains that the only viable theories were ones where you were involved, considering you identified my body in the morgue and did the autopsy, you had to have known." 

"Key player and all that?" Molly asked from her spot in the room, grabbing her little tape recorder and dictating further thoughts on the autopsy as she slowly wheeled the body to the door to be taken back to the freezer. 

"Key player indeed." 

Molly had turned her back to him to hand off the wheeled table to an intern for return, and started when she turned back and Sherlock was two feet away from her. 

"Jesus Sherlock, don't do that. You could give me a heart attack." Molly scolded, but didn't move from her spot. 

"Highly unlikely." Sherlock replied, edging a bit closer. "You're young, healthy, in good shape." Molly sucked in a breath as his eyes scanned her, taking in the color of the blouse she wore today, and the slacks, all the way down to her shoes. "You are quite...well formed." 

"Sherlock..." Molly gulped, knowing her face was bright red at that moment, and not entirely sure how to proceed. 

"Yes Molly?" 

"When you came back...the first time...did you ... I mean were you...if I hadn't been engaged at the time would you have..." Another gulp, another step forward, and there he was, just inches away.

"Would I have what, Molly?"

"Oh screw it." Molly pulled at the collar of his shirt and crashed their lips together, her heart racing, feeling him wrap his arms around her waist and pull her closer. Molly couldn't help wonder what she thought she had been doing before when she was engaged to Tom. Of course she knew he looked like Sherlock. She wanted to not believe it, didn't want to think she really did have a type, but... well she knew what she liked. He had been a poor substitute for the real deal though, and as she started to feel light headed from the kiss, she wondered if Sherlock had wanted to do this since he got back. The first time. Somehow she doubted it, this feeling he was demonstrating now surely was new. He couldn't...

"I must say..." Sherlock began after they broke apart "that that was a ...long time coming." Molly quirked an eyebrow at him. 

"Oh really?" Molly asked, leaning against the wall next to the door where they were. "What makes you say that?" 

"Well..." Sherlock leaned in closer, putting his arms around her waist once again and settling himself against her, careful to not lean too much on her. He took a few strands of her hair in his right hand and began twirling them around. "You and I Molly, I believe, were  always supposed to be...how would John put it, a thing." 

"Oh, is that right? Did the great Sherlock Holmes predict this 'thing' or has this thing come to light recently?" Molly teased, her breath catching in her throat when he leaned his head down and hovered, his breath hot, around that part of her anatomy. 

"Anderson saw it too."

"Don't ruin the moment Sherlock, please." Molly muttered, grabbing his arms to keep herself upright as his lips made contact with her skin. 

"Well to be fair " he began, in between light brushes to her skin and the occasional suck, which, he noted with pleasure, made her buck a bit against him. "that was the only part of his theory that was correct." 

"Hmm." Molly's eyes were closed now, her head resting against the wall, clearly enjoying their current position. "Not that he brought it up much. Even to him it was a bit...oh GOD." Molly's body curved against his, her hands creating a vice grip on his arms, as he found the sensitive spot on her neck. 

"What's that Molly?" She could feel the smirk on his lips against her skin and rolled her eyes. "I thought you didn't want me to get ideas of being holy." 

"Oh shut up Sherlock, just keep doing...ohhh yes. Just keep doing that." Sherlock obeyed, and Molly kept wriggling against him as he went to work on her neck, assuring she would need a great deal of make up, maybe even  a turtle neck, the next day. 

"What should we tell John?" Sherlock asked as they walked down the sidewalk two hours later, hands laced together, heading for Baker Street. 

"About what?" Molly was checking her e-mail on her phone, trusting Sherlock to not lead her into a ditch or a sudden dip. 

"How we...got together." That was still new to him, and he bet it would be new to him for awhile, the thought of actually...being with someone when it wasn't for a case.

"Just tell him the truth. We got together after our first kiss." Molly replied absentmindedly.

"The actual first kiss or the second first kiss?" That cheeky comment got Molly to look up from her phone and glare at him. He laughed, and brought their entwined hands together to kiss her's, before letting them swing back down between them. After a few more minutes he spoke again. "Fish and chips for dinner?" Sherlock inquired. 

"Let me guess," Molly looked at him, grinning "you know the bloke who runs the shop and he gives you extra portions for free?" 

"Indeed. Bloody good. We should get some for Mrs. Hudson as well." Sherlock commented. He was startled when Molly suddenly stopped, tugging him back to her. "What?" 

"Nothing." Molly replied, grinning. "I'm just...taking in the moment." She was sure he would roll his eyes at her for that comment, but instead he surprised her and smiled back instead. "Fish and chips for dinner. Extra portions. Sounds lovely."

"I believe that show you like is on tonight. Doctor What."

"Who, Sherlock. Doctor Who. And yes, it is." 

"Doctor Who. So, fish and chips, Doctor Who, stay in. Sound good?" He sounded like he genuinely cared if that sounded good to her and indeed, when she looked up at him from where she'd laid her head against his shoulder, he was looking at her with inquiring eyes. 

"Yes, Sherlock. It sounds lovely." Sherlock smiled, tightened his grip on her hand, which she reciprocated, and they walked on down the sidewalk, towards home. 

 

The End.


End file.
